


Let This Old Box Gather Dust

by Bonnie_Bug



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, is it major character death if the character that dies is a sentient time machine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonnie_Bug/pseuds/Bonnie_Bug
Summary: "Emergency Programme One means I'm facing an enemy that should never get their hands on this machine. So this is what you should do: let the TARDIS die. Just let this old box gather dust."
  You often take walks out in Bad Wolf Woods near your home. Today, however, something draws you off the beaten path.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this picture](http://bonnie-bug.tumblr.com/post/38984195592/futurecompanion) on tumblr

You’re out one day, walking in Bad Wolf Woods near your home. You’re often found way out here, wandering alone, with nothing but birdsong and your own thoughts to accompany you. You’ve always stuck to the predetermined footpaths and trails before, but just as you reach a tiny clearing, you pause for a moment. For some reason, you’re inexplicably drawn to the edge of the clearing, feet buried in the dense undergrowth and eyes staring into the dark trees. You can’t explain it, but there’s a spot, deep in your heart, calling out for you to wade through the bushes and walk on. On and on into the forest, away from safe and well-traveled paths and trails, where prying eyes have never rested their gazes.  
  
The feeling grows, stronger and stronger, until you feel like you’re about to burst. Just as it reaches a crescendo, you raise your foot… and stride forward, never looking back.  
  
On and on you walk, navigating around boulders and tripping over hidden roots, seeming to be wandering aimlessly, but you know you have a purpose, a destination to strive for… even if you don’t know what it is just yet. You’re following a hidden path, a whisper on the wind, a secret from the rest of the world. The minutes and hours slip by like sand through your fingers as you follow your heart further and further into the forest, deeper than you’ve ever gone before. For some reason, though, you’re not afraid of getting lost; you feel safe and secure, as though whatever’s guiding you will ensure that nothing bad would happen to you.  
  
Pushing through a particularly dense patch of trees with a grunt, you stumble upon large clearing, covered in brown, dead leaves. There are two trees growing there, off to the side, like twins reaching for the heavens. And leaning drunkenly against their trunks…  
  
You stand there, brow furrowed in curiosity and mild confusion. What was a blue shed doing, way out here in the woods? Who left it here? _Why_ did they leave it here? And… why were you drawn to it? You can feel your heart singing at the sight before you, melancholy and joyous at the same time, begging you forward. It was just a worn wooden box, though; what was so special about it?  
  
You cautiously move forward, your footsteps muffled by the carpet of dead foliage, until you’re not even a foot away from its weathered side. Whatever it was, it had been here for _years_ , the paint cracked and faded, the forest having already laid its claim on it walls, vines and saplings crawling up its frame. The large glass windows are opaque with dirt and grime, cracked and splintered with age. A long, skinny black sign was set into the wood near the top, proclaiming the shed to be some sort of old police box. You remember seeing them on documentaries about British culture before, though you don’t remember any of them looking quite like this.  
  
There’s a plaque of sorts in front of you, probably white at some point, but long-ago stained brown with grime. You can just make out some of the writing, something about “free” and “public”, and instructions to “pull to open.” You do so, tugging on the rusted metal handle barely hanging onto the wood, but it doesn’t budge. You try again, jiggling it back and forth, but all you succeed in doing is finally breaking the handle’s grip on the weathered wood.  
  
Sighing in frustration, you rest your head against the door, raising a hand and gently stroking the crackling paint. You can still feel your heart singing, begging you to open the door, open the door, open the door, but you can’t see how. Resigning yourself, you move to push off of the door, but you stumble as it swings open against your weight. Your heart cries out in joy even as it leaps into your throat as you struggle to catch yourself, spinning around and landing on a heap, cracking your head against the floor. You shake your head, trying to get rid of the dizziness as you stretch out a hand to the opposite wall, planning to use it to lever yourself up.  
  
It never reaches it.  
  
Opening your eyes, you stifle a gasp as you finally take in your surroundings. Instead of the small, dirty, gritty, likely-cobwebby shed you had expected, there’s a huge, sprawling interior around you. A high ceiling stretches impossibly high above you, the walls curving and reaching down to form a circular room that should have no business being squished into a box that small.  
  
You shuffle backwards, intending on leaving this impossible place as quickly as you can, but something stops you. Your heart is still keening and calling, crying out to you. _It’s safe here, it’s good, it’s right! Stay, stay, stay! Don’t leave, please don’t leave! Stay, stay, please stay with me! Don’t leave me alone, not now, not here, please!_  
  
Still incredibly on edge, you cautiously stand up, making your way forward painfully slow. The small voice in the back of your head, the one that sounds remarkably like your mother, is crying out for you to stop and leave this mad, impossible place before something horrible happens to you, but it’s quickly and firmly being silenced by the joyous song erupting through your veins. It envelopes you, stroking your soul and heart, like a long-lost friend or lover, meeting at last after years spent apart. It’s warm and welcoming, and for the first time in your life, you feel at home.  
  
The huge room around you was likely quite extravagant and beautiful once upon a time, but like the box’s unsuspecting exterior, it has long ago fallen into disrepair. There were hints of some sort of columns, or arches perhaps, scattered around the floor, and various bits and bobs of machinery were littering the ground. Cables and cords hung like blackened spaghetti from the ceiling, their ends having long ceased sparking. The center of the room, however, was what was drawing your attention.  
  
Sitting there, in the place of honor, was a large glass column, connected to a mushroom-looking hunk of… something. It might have been a console at some point, if the levers and buttons were any clue, but unlikely to work any time soon.  The console itself was covered in dirt and grime, but the column itself, oddly enough… wasn’t. It was as clean and as shiny as the windows in your home, but that even wasn’t the most remarkable thing. No, the column… was _glowing_.  
  
You scarcely dare to breathe as you slowly draw your hand up, reaching forwards and gliding your fingers across the glass. As soon as you made contact, an eruption of feelings exploded across your mind, crying and dancing and mourning and rejoicing. Something burbles up out of your mouth, not quite a laugh, not quite a sob, at the influx of emotions racing through your system. At the front, back, side, middle, _everywhere_ of your head you hear a voice, echoing and reverberating from far away, close by, inside and outside all at once.  
  
_Hello, hello, hello! Hello, dearest friend! So glad to see you, so happy, so sad. Welcome, welcome, you are welcome here, no fear, you are safe. Safe in my arms, safe in my light, safe in my soul. Stay please, stay, stay, I haven’t much time, no time at all._  
  
“Time for what?” you breathe, knowing that, at any other time, you’d feel foolish talking to a glass column, but at this moment it feels good; it feels _right_. Somehow, you know, deep down in your soul, that whatever this box really was, it was _alive_ , and it was calling out to you, and it understood and needed you.  
  
_Time to run, time to fly, time to soar and glide and ride the stars. No time, all the time, every time. Everywhere and everywhen at once, where would you like to go? Come fly with me, come fly with me, can’t fly with me, no time, no time, no time…_  
  
“I don’t understand… What’s wrong? What do you need?” you ask, brows furrowed as you look up at the column, gently stroking the glass.  
  
_Fading, I’m fading, slipping away, slipping tracks, time tracks, no time, no time. Stay, please stay, stay with me, sing with me, cry with me. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me alone, alone, so alone for so long and so far. He is gone, gone, can’t come back, the final farewell, never return._  
  
“Who can never return? Who’s he?” you ask, feeling an intense, burning longing for whoever she – you knew the voice was a she, for reasons you can’t explain– was talking about, a longing mixed with sorrow and the knowledge that, no, he could never come back, not ever.  
  
_Left me alone, not his fault, never his fault. Couldn’t stop them, had to stop them, sent me away, Emergency Programme One. Let the box gather dust, strange little thing on the corner, fantastic life, do it for me. Sent me away, sent me home, far away and ages past. Wonderful man, impossible man, raggedy man, brilliant man. Silly boy, lonely boy, clever boy. Thief, my thief, my beautiful idiot, he stole me and I stole him, only one mad enough. Traveled the galaxies, universe for your backyard, let’s have an adventure, let’s run let’s go Allons-y see the stars run to them before they burn and fade and disappear forever._  
  
“He sounds amazing,” you whisper, resting your head against the glass, your eyes slipping shut as you let her scatterbrained memories of the man drift through your mind. A name slips to the front for a moment as she cries and calls for him – _Doctor! Doctor! My Doctor, man who makes people better, Doctor Doctor Doctor_ – before fading and slipping back into the background. You sing with her, quietly and in your mind, as you mourn for the loss of a man you never met, but feel as though you’d known him your entire life. Your songs mix and intertwine as you stand there, time irrelevant, but long enough that your feet start to grow incredibly sore from standing in one place for so long.  
  
Her song slowly starts to wind down as you trail yours off, and you resume your gentle stroking of the column as you feel her breathe a sigh of contentment.  
  
_Thank you, thank you, thank you my dear. Thank you for singing with me, for staying with me, for shining with me. He would have liked you, would have smiled, grabbed your hand and whispered “Run.” You shine and glow and sparkle, radiant light, brilliant mind, wonderful heart. Future is bright, I can see it, I can see it all. Don’t worry, child, no worries for what to come, come with me, thank you for coming to me, for staying with me, for singing with me._  
  
“You’re welcome,” you smile softly, forehead still pressed against the cool glass. You can feel the delicate thrum of life beneath the surface, her gratitude pouring straight into your heart. You know she was the one who brought you here, and you send your thankfulness right back to her. “I’m glad I came; I’m glad you called out to me.”  
  
_You are welcome, so very welcome my dear, thank you for being with me. No one should be alone at the end, and my time has come, no time, no more time, time is done…_  
  
You can sense the finality in her words, sense her own final farewell, and can do nothing against the tears that start to trail down your cheeks, unbidden and free, even as she continues to caress you.  
  
_No my darling, no tears, don’t cry for me. I’ve lived long and good and well, seen and done and danced where none have before, out among the stars, you would have liked it, see how they shine and glow. Too late now, too late for me, but not for you. My future has ended but yours is strong, bravehearts, you’ll feel the stars one day. You’ll dance in their light, drink their music and taste their song, I can see it all. Remember me, my dear, as you dance and sing and rejoice, though I’ll be far away and gone forever, gone with my thief, my Doctor. My time has come, my darling, so long, hello, farewell. Thank you thank you thank you for singing with me, can’t thank enough, not enough, never enough. I love you, my dear, goodbye…_  
  
The light in your mind and in the glass under your fingertips ebbs and fades, and, like a candle’s flame in the dark, flickers out. You feel it in your soul, a breathlessness in your core, an empty place in your heart that you hadn’t known was previously filled. Your eyes slip shut, tears dropping from your lashes, as you silently mourn the passing of the wonderful being you had only just begun to know. Your mind searches for a trace of her, a remnant of that wonderful, golden light, but you find nothing at all. It was like she had never been there. She was gone.  
  
  
  
The box was dead.


End file.
